Soup in the Rain
by Pomodoridori
Summary: Azog takes the One Ring from Bilbo. It's beautiful. And it's going to kill him. alternatively, Bilbo has a bad day. So does Azog, but he doesn't know it yet. (rated M for language)


Bilbo was not having a very good day. In fact, Bilbo was having what was probably the worst day of his life. It had started out innocently enough- just this morning he'd been having breakfast with the dwarves: the company had been in high spirits since their brush with death in the mountains. Kili and Fili were joking, as always, and Bombur had cooked a soup that was delicious, even if it was a bit over-salted by Hobbit standards. Even Thorin was smiling at his nephew's antics. Overall, Bilbo would have to say that the day had started wonderfully.

But by lunchtime everything had gone downhill. Clouds had blotted out the sun, and when rain had come pouring down from the sky the paths they'd been trotting down on their ponies became thick and treacherously slick with mud.

And then, with no warning at all, a warg had leapt over the crest of a nearby hill. With it came the orcs.

And that was when Bilbo's day went to absolute shit.

Bilbo woke with a mouth full of greasy fur and the smell of rotten fish in his nostrils. He gagged and immediately regretted it, because it set his head pounding. Something hissed at him and thumped his back angrily, and when Bilbo opened his eyes in surprise he found that he'd been trussed up and strapped to the back of a warg. A scrawny orc was guiding the creature, and he was giving Bilbo a nasty look. Bilbo swallowed nervously and closed his eyes. _Maybe when I wake up I'll find that this was just a nightmare._

But it was not. That night, after a long day of uncomfortable travel, Bilbo was dropped unceremoniously at the feet of the most massive orc he'd ever laid eyes on.

The orc was huge and pale and very, very frightening. Bilbo felt his heartbeat speed up. Even the orc who'd brought him looked nervous, and that did nothing to calm his nerves.

The pale orc looked down at Bilbo, and then reached for the collar of his shirt to yank him to his feet. Bilbo stifled a whimper and felt his knees wobble, but he managed to keep them from buckling. Bilbo had the feeling that if he moved suddenly, whether it be to collapse or escape, he would die.

The orc leaned down to look Bilbo in the face. He took two long whiffs of air near Bilbo's neck, and Bilbo winced at his fetid breath. The orc made a low growling noise, and the hairs on the back of Bilbo's neck stood up when the light from the fire caught on the blade that protruded from the orc's mangled arm. _Well, shit,_ he thought, _this is how I die._

With a snarl, the orc shoved him backwards, and Bilbo stumbled away, shuddering. The scrawny orc behind him hissed, but it almost sounded pained.

"Why have you brought me this creature!? Where are the dwarves? _I want them all dead!_ "

The pale orc's voice was deep and violent and _angry_.

Bilbo's breath caught in his throat.

The scrawny orc made a low whining sound. "The dwarves!" it said, "We attacked them, but then- there were elves! We managed to snag this one, this creature, it's part of the dwarves' company!"

The big orc growled. "I asked for the dwarves' heads on pikes, and instead you bring me _this_ soft-bellied creature." The orc gestured angrily to Bilbo, and he flinched away from its prothstetic arm.

The pale orc added something in a heavy tongue that Bilbo couldn't parse-he guessed it was Orcish, and from the way the scrawny orc flinched, it had been something cutting.

As the they continued in orcish, Bilbo focused on not passing out from sheer terror, and tried to think of how he could possibly escape. His options were depressingly low.

Later, after the big orc had finished snapping at the scrawny one, Bilbo was searched for weapons. The orcs came away with a knife (one that Kili had lent Bilbo, so he'd be able to learn wood carving from Dwalin) and, when they were unhappy with the result, they stripped him.

The night air was cold against Bilbo's skin, and he shivered. The pale orc was watching from across camp, lounging against an enormous white warg. Bilbo _hated_ being exposed, and his things being rifled through made him angry. Worst of all was how the orcs leered at him and poked at his soft skin.

But soon they were done going through his clothes and pack, and Bilbo was allowed to wear his shirt and pants and cloak again. The orc who was watching him get dressed assured him the only reason why he could wear his things again was because none of it would fit the orcs, and besides, it was cold outside and they didn't want him to freeze to death. Yet. Bilbo shivered, hoping that whatever the orcs had planned for him was not painful (but he doubted it.)

It took a few moments for Bilbo to realize his ring was missing. He still had his spare button in his pocket, but the ring...the ring was gone. Something in his gut twisted, and Bilbo swallowed hard. _Dammit. I should have expected as much, but still...the ring's mine. And important to me._

Azog had personally gone through the hobbit's things. He didn't trust his subordinates- if there was anything precious on the creature they'd try to make off with it. He already had to snap at them when one tried to keep the knife that the hobbit had been hiding in his shirt pocket.

Azog was surprised to find a small golden ring in the creature's vest pocket. It was a brilliant little thing, all shiny in the light. Azog didn't normally care for gold, but something about this ring was...special. He tucked it away in his bag for safekeeping and finished sorting through the hobbit's clothes. There was nothing else of interest.

Azog went to sleep with satisfaction sitting warm and heavy in his belly. He'd captured a member of Oakenshield's company and could use the small hobbit as bait for the dwarves. Soon, the Dwarfscum would be within his grasp. Besides, the little hobbit and his ring were pretty, and Azog had always liked pretty things.

He curled next to Daisy and closed his eyes.

The next day, Azog woke in a good mood. He'd had pleasing dreams- he couldn't remember them exactly, the details were hazy- but he did know that the pretty little ring was the cause. Azog wasn't usually enamoured by gold: he valued good hard steel above gold's soft body, but there was something _special_ about this ring. Something about it pulled at him.

Azog absentmindedly turned the tiny ring over in his hands, admiring the way it caught the light. Eventually, he pocketed it. There were things to do, and dwarves to catch. Daisy needed to hunt, and if Azog didn't get up soon his underlings would do something stupid. Azog sighed and stretched.

The scrawny orc that had first captured Bilbo was the one to watch him, although Bilbo was more or less left alone for the next two days. Sure, the orcs prodded and snapped at him, but they worst they'd do was smack him with their palms. It could have been worse- Bilbo could have been tortured, or he could have been killed. Or eaten. But mostly the orcs ignored him unless they were delivering food or watching him when he took a piss. The scrawny orc even had the decency to cook the bits of meat that were fed to Bilbo.

Bilbo had plenty of time to think about the dwarves. He worried about them. Had any of them been injured? Killed?

But from what snippets Bilbo overheard of the orcs conversation, and from what bits of reports he could hear, he gathered that Thorin was staying with the elves in Rivendale. It seemed odd, to Bilbo, that Thorin would stay with the elves, but it was likely that the company was taking a few days to recover from their losses.

 _Do they even miss me?_ Bilbo wondered.

It was the evening of the third day when the pale orc ordered Bilbo to be brought to him again.

Bilbo was nervous, and he asked the scrawny orc, "Do you think he's going to kill me?"

The orc bared his teeth. "I don't pretend to know what General Azog's planning."

 _I've heard that name before..._ Bilbo's eyes widened. _No...it can't be! Thorin killed him long ago…_

"Wait. You mean to tell me that your leader is Azog the Defiler?"

The scrawny orc turned to Bilbo and gave him a shrewd look. "Yes. He is the great pale orc. Now shut up."

Bilbo shut up.

The pale orc- _no, Azog_ \- Bilbo reminded himself, had dark circles under his eyes. He looked a cross between exhausted and angry. Bilbo swallowed and didn't dare meet the orc's icy gaze.

"Hobbit," Azog rumbled, "tell me about the ring I found in your pocket."

Bilbo blinked. _This is unexpected. I thought he'd want to know more about Thorin._ "Ah, well, I found it in the mountains."

Azog leaned forward, all menace and bared teeth. "There's something special about this ring, isn't there?"

"I- I'm not sure," Bilbo stuttered. He was absolutely _not_ going to tell Azog that the ring made one invisible. That would spell death for Thorin and the rest of the company.

Azog growled. "Don't lie, hobbit. I can smell it on you."

"You can smell lies?" Bilbo's voice rose by an octave. "But, ah, s-sir- how do you know what lies smell like on a hobbit, if you've never met a hobbit before?"

Azog chuckled. It was not a very nice chuckle. "Stop stalling and tell me. There's something about it."

Bilbo swallowed, hard, and said, "I- I just found it. I don't know anything about it."

Azog ground his teeth. "How, exactly, did you come by it?"

Bilbo could feel sweat beginning to drip down his spine. "It's a bit of a story but- I'll tell you."

Azog sat back against his warg and crossed his arms.

Bilbo began to recount his tale under the mountain, and meeting Gollum, and finding the ring. Azog fidgeted somewhat during the tale, but mostly stayed still to listen.

By the time Bilbo was finished, Azog was scowling. He snarled something in orcish, and then added, "Enough. I'll learn more tomorrow."

Bilbo was taken by the scrawny orc and tied to his tree again. He was surprised that he hadn't been killed yet.

A day later, and Bilbo was roused from his dozing when there was a large commotion at the orc campsite. He blinked, stiffening and wary when he saw the orcs shouting about something loudly in their mangled speech.

They didn't seem angry, though. More like they were excited.

Bilbo squinted when they brought out three huge barrels. The scrawny orc that was set to watch him made a happy noise low in his throat.

"What is it?" Bilbo said, cautiously, careful not to annoy the orc.

"The raiding party," the scrawny orc smiled, "they brought back ale."

Bilbo blinked. "Ah," he replied, and decided that, if he wanted to escape, he'd have to do it when the orcs were all drunk.

 _Tonight, then. Tonight will be my chance._

That night, the orcs drank. And drank, and drank.

By midnight, at least half of them had passed out from drink, and the other half was singing loudly and stumbling about. There had been at least one fight, and it had ended when one of the orcs' bellies had been slit open and all his intestines had cascaded out. The orc'd still been shrieking in pain when the wargs had torn him apart. Bilbo had to swallow back bile. He was glad that it hadn't been the scrawny orc assigned as his guard. He didn't exactly _like_ his guard, but he'd been careful with Bilbo, which was more than what Bilbo had expected.

But now his guard was definitely drunk, and dozing against the tree where Bilbo was trussed up. Bilbo was busy loosening the knots on his hands-slowly but surely he was pulling the rope nice and loose. It took him another half hour to make the ropes completely slack, and then he sat still and pretended to be bound until at last the orc camp fell completely silent.

Then, with his pulse beating hard in his throat, Bilbo stood and crept to the edge of the encampment, where Azog lay asleep. _I want my ring back._

Azog was lying next to his warg, curled on his side around his good arm. His big form was completely relaxed, throat exposed and soft. It was moving slightly with Azog's breath. Bilbo's knife had slipped out from where it'd been clipped on Azog's belt, and lay on the ground by his hip. Carefully, holding his breath, Bilbo reached down and plucked the knife from the ground.

Bilbo froze when Azog's warg snorted in its sleep, its warm breath washing over his back, but relaxed once he saw that its eyes were still soundly shut. Bilbo was about to leave when he remembered the ring. He _knew_ Azog had it. _But where…?_

 _It's not his. It's mine! My precious ring..._ Bilbo's face twisted in anger for a moment, and he glared down at the orc who had stolen the ring from him. _Bastard. I should kill you and take it from you._ Bilbo could hear the heavy sound of rushing blood in his ears. His anger was rising. Bilbo didn't think he'd ever been this angry in his life. It was almost frightening.

Bilbo unsheathed his knife, and, trembling a little, put the tip of the dagger against Azog's throat, ready to plunge it in deep. The orc made a soft sound and turned his face towards his warg. Suddenly, a shout sliced through Bilbo's reverie. He jerked up, only to see his scrawny orc guard staggering towards him. _Shit!_

Bilbo's eyes widened. Azog was stirring at the noise, and so were several of the other orcs. With a curse, Bilbo lurched away from the orc leader and scrambled to the edge of their campsite. He flung himself into the woods with the knowledge that he had precious little time before the orcs would be on his tail.

Azog woke to a loud commotion. He snarled at the pain in his head (he regretted the drinks last night, but it had been _so long_ since he'd had good ale) and snapped at one of the underlings to tell him what was happening.

"The prisoner," the little orc said, nervously, rolling his eyes downwards in a show of respect, "he escaped."

Azog snarled, and the orc cowered. But before he could raise a hand to the orcling, he felt the cold presence of the Necromancer settle across his shoulders. Azog shivered.

 _Come to me,_ the Necromancer whispered into his ear. Azog gave a low growl, and tried shake the Necromancer off. The smoky cold didn't budge an inch.

 _Return to Dol Guldur. You will chase the little hobbit later._

Azog bared his teeth. "And what of the dwarves?"

 _Leave them. You must return._

Azog hissed, angered, but he knew he could not ignore the Necromancer. "Very well." He turned to the scrawny orc and snarled, "Chase the hobbit down. Bring him to Dol Guldur. Alive."

The little orc bowed and scurried away like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Azog's stump was aching. It sometimes did, when the temperatures dropped or after something (or someone) had dangled from it for too long. The bone would rub against the cold iron running through his flesh and it would hurt, hurt, hurt. Not as much as when that Dwarf-scum had sliced his hand off, of course- but still, Azog was careful on these days not to let anything cold touch his stump lest it burn. He didn't use his prosthetic except when he absolutely had to, as any pressure made his eyes water. And Azog didn't dare show weakness in front of his subordinates. If too many of them challenged him at once he'd be overrun.

So he surreptitiously leaned against Daisy and pressed his stump into her warm sides. It'd only warm one part of his arm, of course, but something was better than nothing.

Azog _hated_ Dol Guldur. It was too similar to Mordor, with its dark twisting tunnels like those he'd lived in. Though Azog would hesitate to call his youth _living_ , exactly. He'd been a slave, bred for war. The only reason he'd escaped the mud pits was through his wits and superior strength. Because of them, he'd been able to fight his way into the higher rank of orcs.

Azog sighed, pressing his cheek into Daisy's side. He would always be grateful to escape the pits. To distract himself, Azog pulled out the hobbit's ring and turned it over in his hand. _It's beautiful_ , he thought. Azog admired the ring for it's smooth simplicity. _And yet, there is something about it-_

The biggest difference between Dol Guldur and Mordor was that the ancient fortress was freezing cold and Mordor was boiling hot. It was the one thing Azog appreciated, because the cold kept the humidity from being suffocating (although the chilly mud that got everywhere was quite unpleasant.)

 _Azog._

Azog's head jerked up and he blinked. "...Master?"

 _Meet with me. There is something you carry…_

Azog glanced down at the ring. "I will be with you shortly."

Azog frowned. He was not keen on bringing his ring to the meeting, but he knew that no matter where he hid it in this fortress the Necromancer would be able to find it. With an annoyed hiss, Azog pocketed the ring and strode to the catwalk where he could address the Necromancer.

"Master," he called, "I am here."

 _Good,_ the Necromancer's voice echoed. _Tell me of the hobbit._

Azog nodded, keeping an eye on the shadows as they swelled and crawled along the walls.

But before Azog could even speak, the Necromancer cut across him.

 _You are carrying something. Show it to me._

Azog's eyes widened, minutely. _The ring._ "Master, I don't know what-"

 _Don't play me for a fool, orc!_ The shadows rushed past him, coiling cold and making his stump throb.

Azog hissed. "Fine. But it is _mine._ "

 _We shall see about that. Show it to me._

Begrudgingly, Azog pulled the little golden ring from his pocket and sat it in his palm. He held his hand out, with the ring resting pretty in the center of his palm.

The cold black shadows rushed forwards to envelop his hand, and Azog jerked his fist back. "No!" he barked.

Azog could feel a growing static pressure in his head, and he knew the Necromancer was angry.

 _I said, SHOW IT TO ME!_

Azog's arm was jerked forward by some magic force and cold invisible fingers pried his clenched fist open. Azog hissed in surprise and anger. "Let go of me!"

The Necromancer's grip only strengthened, and Azog could feel the bones in his wrist creak. Azog ground his teeth in anger.

 _Ah yes…_ the Necromancer whispered in Azog's ear, _this ring belongs to Sauron._

Azog's breath caught in his throat, and then he roared with an emotion he could not name.

 _Shut up,_ the Necromancer rattled out, and then Azog was being flung across the catwalk into the wall and held there by something icy around his neck. Azog wheezed and clawed at the cold thing that was choking him but to no avail: his hands passed through it like smoke.

The Necromancer held him there and spoke calmly as he struggled.

 _You will deliver this ring to Sauron in Mordor. You will take no detours and you will travel alone. If you try to run away with the ring I will know. And then you will be hunted to the ends of the earth._

By the time Azog was dropped to the floor black spots littered his vision and he gasped desperately, clutching at his throat with his one good hand. He took a few more rasping breaths and looked up with wide eyes at the Necromancer. His heart was pounding wildly.

 _Now then,_ the Necromancer continued mildly, _I expect you gone by dawn tomorrow._

Azog nodded, too shaken to respond properly. He was shivering from the cold.

The Necromancer's shadows rushed past him in a black dark mist and disappeared into the catacombs, leaving only the ring shining dully on the edge of the catwalk.

Azog eyed it warily.

 _Well, shit_.


End file.
